


So Let It Out and Let It In

by SomethingBlue42



Series: Suptober 2020 [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Concerned Castiel (Supernatural), Dead Mary Winchester, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Gen, Meet-Cute, Professor Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Rock Star Dean Winchester, Stanford Student Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:47:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27131338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomethingBlue42/pseuds/SomethingBlue42
Summary: Suptober Day 9: ElectricDean is struck by the memory of his mother while accompanying Sam on a campus tour.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Destiel if you squint
Series: Suptober 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1960396
Comments: 4
Kudos: 63





	So Let It Out and Let It In

Dean Winchester, bundled in a ratty hoodie with dark sunglasses and a ball cap, kept his head down as he trailed behind the gaggle of people surrounding his brother. It was as close to a real campus tour as the kid was going to get with Dean tagging along, and Sam, stubborn as always, insisted that Dean accompany him. Not that Dean didn’t want to, he just knew what a liability his presence was. 

As they passed what the recruiter called The Oval, Dean could hear his latest single blaring from a portable speaker somewhere on the lawn. A few of the campus guides turned to glance at him, and he pretended not to notice. This was Sam’s day. 

Sam craned his neck, looking over his shoulder and grinning, jabbing a subtle finger towards the lawn and tapping an ear. Dean pulled his sunglasses down so the kid could see him roll his eyes then flicked his fingers, bidding him focus. A young blond fell into step next to him.

“Is it still exciting hearing yourself on the radio?”

Dean didn’t look at her. “Never gets old.” _Conversations like this, however…._

“I’m… I’m sure you get this a lot but I really love you music. When they asked for volunteers to help you tour the campus-”

“My brother,” Dean cut her off, still not looking at her. “My brother is touring the campus. Sam graduated high school with a 4.5 GPA despite never setting foot in a classroom, idn’t that right Sammy?” Dean kicked his foot out, managing to hit his brother right on the ass. 

Sam stumbled and glared over his shoulder at his brother, reaching up a hand to flatten the hair that flopped into his eyes. “It’s Sam. Sammy’s a chubby twelve-year-old with acne.”

Dean chuckled, but it died in his throat as he felt the girl loop her arm through his casually. “Stanford is a good choice. Close enough to L.A. for frequent visits.”

“Sam hates L.A. I doubt he’ll be visiting.” Dean slipped his arm free and took a few quick steps to fall in line next to Sam, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Lotta beautiful women here,” Dean made a point to check out a girl as she ran past, hearing the blond behind him huff. 

Sam looked over his shoulder and glared, elbowing Dean in the ribs gently. “You okay?”

“I’m _fine_ , Sam.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Dean, this might interest you..” One of the student ambassadors piped up, and Dean took in a measured breath, trying very hard not to be annoyed. “Bing Concert Hall. Our music department is-”

“Sam’s pre-law,” Dean replied sharply, and the group stopped, looking at each other and then at the ground.

“I like music though,” Sam said after a moment and then chuckled. “Obviously. Can we go in?”

“Sam-“

“Dean, after seeing you play on every stage on the face of the planet I _cannot_ spend four years at a venue with shitty acoustics.”

Dean’s mouth popped open as the rest of the group laughed and moved up the steps chattering about different concerts they’d seen and where they’d seen them. Dean scurried after, catching the massive door before it closed in his face, grumbling to himself as he listened to Sam relay the various places around the world Dean had played and argued the merits of their acoustical properties. The kid couldn’t play an instrument to save his life or carry a tune in a bucket, but he could wax poetic on tonality and sound quality with the best of them.

They were in the lobby, getting the rundown on the types of events held there when something buzzed at the back of Dean’s neck right along his hairline. A tune, barely audible where he stood though he was sure he heard it and found himself wandering towards the sound, pulling off his sunglasses when it became too dark to see. 

One door in a set that led into the auditorium was ajar, and Dean slipped through the crack, removing his hood and then his hat to avoid the potential creek of the door. He ran a hand through his hair to tame it, moving to stand at the top of the steps and taking in the vineyard style concert hall. A group of four young cellists was seated on the first riser of the sunken stage as an older man, perhaps a professor, paced languidly in front of them, arm crossed over his chest with the elbow of his other resting against it, a finger to his lips as he listened. 

Thanks to his father, Dean grew up on the likes of Zepplin and AC/DC, Eric Clapton and Queen, Black Sabbath, and Bad Company, and that was the type of music he made. Rock and Roll that surged from his fingers through his black Stratocaster, Baby, and out the amplifier at the same time it brewed in his belly and wailed its way past his vocal cords. 

But his mother, Dean paused to smile at her memory, fuzzy now after nearly 18 years gone, had been connoisseur, not a purist, and her voice, clear and high as she sang “Hey Jude” until he fell asleep, was still the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. Standing there, in an overly bright concert hall gave him a strange sense of vertigo as if the present were meeting the past. Listening to that familiar melody being wrung out of the strings made him feel like if he were to turn around right then, he would see her face, smiling and mouthing the words.

Dean wasn’t aware that his feet were carrying him down the stairs as the bridge crescendoed into the coda, and the swell made him feel full to the bursting point. He was also oblivious to the fact that the professor, who had been pacing in front of the quartet, had now stopped, his eyes trained on Dean as his head tipped to the side, curious. Dean felt almost robbed when the coda only went for two rounds, a tear tracking down his cheek as the song came to a close in a bright swell before dying away to silence. He stared unblinking, unaware that the professor held out his hand, bidding his students remain in their seats as he approached the young man.

Dean’s cloudy vision was suddenly filled with blue eyes, the color of a deep ocean, and a brow crinkled in concern, full lips set in a grim line. Dean felt a hand rest on his shoulder, and the instinct to jerk back at a stranger’s touch seemed to have gone missing. Dean was acutely aware of the breath passing in and out of his lungs, the scratchy sound it made, and the wildly out of sync metronome of his heart. On some base level, he understood that he was probably having a panic attack, but something about the gentle rumble of the professor’s voice and the warmth of his hand on his bicep allowed him to hold it together.

“Holy shit that’s Dean Winchester!” The exclamation paired with the break in eye contact as the professor turned to look over his shoulder made Dean jump. The first cellist stared at them in awe.

Dean reached up to wipe his face, swallowing hard, and he was a heartbeat away from turning his heel to run when the professor’s eyes met his again, still impossibly blue and his expression still holding cautious concern.

“Your name is Dean?” The professor asked, his voice like thunder in the distance, and Dean found himself nodding as he blinked, and two more tears tracked down his face, bringing the professor into perfect clarity. 

He did jump when the professor brought up a handkerchief and dabbed the wetness away, the gesture so tender despite the matter-of-fact way he’d done it as if it were just what you did when world-famous rock stars crashed your rehearsal blubbering over their dead mothers. Dean tried to take a step back, but the professor followed him.

“I’m Castiel Novak. I teach Cello. Are you a student?” Dean snorted, and Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know where you are right now?”

“Y-yeah, man.” Dean brought a hand up and pinched the bridge of his nose hard. “Yeah, I’m… shit I’m sorry.”

Castiel’s chuckle was accompanied by a squeeze of his fingers around Dean’s bicep that made Dean almost shiver. “Not a problem. I’m certainly flattered the arrangement induced such a visceral reaction. Are you a musician?”

A chorus of “OH MY GOD PROFESSOR!” “ARE YOU FREAKIN KIDDING ME?” And “Of course he has no idea who he is.” sounded behind him, making him frown and crane his neck as Dean let out a sharp snort of laughter that he had to cover his mouth to deaden. The professor turned to look at him again, and Dean allowed his face to settle into the thousand-yard smolder he deployed for interviews and album covers. Castiel merely blinked.

“Dean?” 

Dean turned at the sound of his brother’s voice wafting from the top of the steps, and Sam was trotting down at a quick clip, face set in a frown as he jerked Dean out of the professors grasp.

“Can we help you?” Sam nearly snarled, and Castiel’s eyebrows raised, his arms crossing over his chest as he stretched himself to his full height though Sam was still a good five inches taller. When his eyes narrowed, turning from flat calm to a budding tempest, however, Dean saw Sam swallow hard.

“Since you came barging into _my_ rehearsal I feel that I should be directing that question at you?”

“We’re sorry,” Dean said, immediately grabbing Sam’s arm as Sam craned his neck to look at the cellists who were all filming the exchange and asked, “What rehearsal?” At the exact same time.” 

“Sam we’re gonna be late for your meeting with the Law School we should go.” Dean tried to tug Sam away, but his moose of a brother wouldn’t budge.

“You’re law students?” Castiel asked, and another groan sounded behind him, making him jump. Sam looked absolutely delighted. 

“I’m a prospective student and this is my brother.” Sam wrestled Dean under his arm and forced him to face the professor again, his eyes rolling as he shifted from foot to foot. “He’s a musician.”

Castiel’s eyebrows raised. “What instrument.”

“Oh god, I can’t take it.” A student stood, handing their instrument to the person next to them to balance while they stepped over, tapping away on their phone. “Here. This is him.”

Dean cringed as the new single, tinny and shallow, emitted from the phone speakers while the cinegraph of him looking to the side then straight into the camera to give a slow blink before his lips parted in a hitched breath began to loop. Castiel stared down at the phone for several bars before his eyes flicked to Dean’s face and then down again to watch the cinegraph loop a few more times. He cleared his throat. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t listen to a lot of popular music. Forgive me.”

Dean waved a hand, feeling a smile tug at his lips. “Don’t worry about it man you’ve got what matters.” Dean nodded at the cellists, who were beaming at him around their camera phones. “The Beatles trump me every time.”

“Well I am rather fond of ‘Hey Jude’” Castiel gave Dean a small smile, and Dean felt like he was witnessing something rare and beautiful. 

“Wait…” Sam held out a hand, keeping Castiel in his peripheral as he turned to look at Dean. “ _Hey Jude_ Hey Jude? Like Mom used to sing?”

Dean felt his cheeks grow hot and knew he must be red as a tomato right about then, exacerbated by the penetrating look Castiel was giving him. Dean reached up to scratch his ear as he looked at the ground and nodded. He felt Sam shift excitedly next to him.

“Can I hear it?”

“Sam!” Dean said sharply, and Castiel’s head tipped to the side in confusion as Sam sighed.

“Come on, Dean! Clearly, it was good or you wouldn’t look like you swallowed a slug.” Sam looked to Castiel and offered his hand. “Sam Winchester, pre-law. Don’t mind him he’s emotionally constipated.”

“Fuck you, Sam.” Dean whacked him hard upside the head, and Sam lanced him with his most potent bitchface. 

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to hear it.” Sam looked from Castiel to the cellists who were already putting their phones away and settling in their seats. “Our mother, she-”

“He don’t wanna hear my tragic origin story, Sammy,” Dean muttered out the side of his mouth. 

“-passed when I was one and Dean was four.”

Dean was still amazed that Sam could rattle that off without so much as a stutter. Then again, Sam hadn’t gotten a chance to know their mother. She’d never held him after a nightmare or made him tomato-rice soup when he was sick. Dean had been the one to do all those things for him. Just as Dean had been the one to sing him “Hey Jude” every night before he went to sleep when Sam was little.

“Is that alright with you, Dean?” 

Castiel’s voice interrupted his brooding, and Dean found himself once again a little starry-eyed under that stare. Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth, hoping it hid his blush. “Uh, yeah fine with me.”

Castiel eyed him skeptically, and Dean felt as if he were being x-rayed, every thought and emotion laid bare under the older man’s concerned gaze. Dean didn’t even jump when Castiel’s hand closed around his wrist, giving it a light squeeze before he turned to the quartet.

“Okay, from the top, please.”

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
> 
> [Visit me on Tumblr](https://desti-feeels.tumblr.com)  
> 


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